


Of Finwean Ladies

by unknownlifeform



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child Death, Conversations, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Reminiscing, Snippets, also not all of them are equally important, characters have deliberately been tagged in alphabetic order, the child death is only mentioned but it's still worth warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknownlifeform/pseuds/unknownlifeform
Summary: A series of moments in the lives, deaths, and second lives of many ladies of the line of Finwe.(And maybe a story about one who was forgotten)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	Of Finwean Ladies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the last day of Finwean Ladies Week, and this fic personally killed me writing it, I hope it's gonna come out good.  
> At one point there is an OC named Thalforiel, who is Orodreth's wife, just in case anyone is confused.

“I’m afraid that family tree will not become any easier by glaring at it.”

Arwen raised her eyes from the book her father had given her, detailing a rough history of their family. “Why did everyone have so many children?”

Celebrían laughed, sitting down next to her. “I imagine they really loved children.”

“But how am I supposed to remember them all?” Her father had said history lessons would be easier for her if she memorized her ancestry, but Arwen felt she was just swimming in names.

Some people she already knew. The High Kings of the Noldor she remembered well enough – even if she kept forgetting whose son Gil-Galad was – but that was because they featured in many songs and tales. Then there was Arwen’s grandmother, and her father’s parents. Beyond that, however? There were far too many people.

How was she even supposed to tell them apart when they all had names like Argon and Angrod and Aegnor?

“Don’t worry. I also couldn’t make any sense of them when your grandmother began explaining our family’s history to me.”

“It’s strange,” Arwen said. “They’re family, but I never met them.”

“It is. Maybe you can ask your grandmother for stories, next time you see her. She knew most of them, after all.”

“Did you ever meet them?”

Celebrían shook her head. “No. No, most of them were dead already when I was born. The only ones still alive were Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor.”

“Oh.”

“What have you learnt so far?”

Arwen frowned, trying to remember what his father had taught her. “I know Fëanor left Valinor with the ships he stole from the Teleri, and then burnt them, so Fingolfin had to follow him walking through the ice.”

“Ah. Well, many other things happened after that. Your father can explain you the story much better than me.”

Arwen hummed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, but I’m afraid I don’t remember a single date.”

“It’s not dates, it’s… Father told me Fëanor treated his half-siblings so badly, so why did Fingolfin and Lalwen follow him? I’d never go with Elladan and Elrohir if they were so mean to me.”

Celebrían sighed. “I… I imagine that even if they argued, Fingolfin didn’t really hate his brother. And Fingolfin’s father had also been killed by Morgoth, he probably wanted justice too.”

“Lalwen too?”

“I don’t know. But your grandmother told me her aunt had never been happy staying still in just one place. I think maybe she just wanted to explore.”

“And why did the other children of Finwë not go?”

Celebrían laughed. “This is something you really should ask your father.”

“But if I ask father it will become another history class.”

“True,” Celebrían said. “Well, I heard Finarfin was wiser than most, and that he was more thoughtful than his siblings. He must have realized leaving the Blessed Realm would have caused a lot of pain. I think that is also why Findis stayed, but I also heard she never had much love for Fëanor. Not enough to follow him, for sure.”

Arwen nodded, following lines in the family tree. “And Faniel?” she asked, looking at the last name in that generation.

“Faniel, ah...” Celebrían stopped, a little frown on her face. “In truth, I don’t really know enough of her. I heard she was a kind soul. It’s possible she just didn’t want to be involved in the wars that came.”

In following days, Arwen decided to look up the names of the women in her family. Elladan and Elrohir loved to go on and on about how they would one day have as much renown as Fingon the Valiant or Gil-Galad. Arwen thought it was only right she also found someone she got to be like.

There was Lúthien,yes, people always told her she was like Lúthien, but Arwen wasn’t sure she liked hearing it. It always made a strange shiver run down her back.

The library in Imladris held many historical artifacts, including letters of the women of the house of Finwë who had once been in Beleriand. Lalwen in particular had left a lot of them, many of which speaking of her travels. It seemed she had been some kind of scholar, having discovered a lot of animals. Mostly bugs. Arwen didn’t really like bugs.

There were other women Arwen could barely find anything on. Indis was a Vanyar and Finwë’s second wife, younger sister of the King of the Vanyar. Findis was said to be the most Vanyar-like of her siblings, which didn’t mean a lot to Arwen other than knowing she was blonde. She was also noted to be a writer, and politician. And then there was Faniel, youngest of her siblings, and there was almost nothing about her, other than her time of birth.

After long consideration, Arwen had to admit that the women of the House of Finwë were often great, but didn’t share much with her. She would have to be happy with claiming Lúthien.

Or, well, Finduilas seemed nice.

***

_There were eyes in the dark._

_A darkness such at this Indis hadn’t seen since she was a child. By the shores of Cuiviénen, where the Trees did not reach, where all the lit up the sky were the stars. The beautiful gift of Varda, precious and wonderful, but so easy for a cloud to obscure. And when the stars were hidden, things crawled in the forest._

_Indis ran through a Tirion that the darkness made strange and different. She held Findis in her arms, but could not find Nolofinwë nor Írimë. She looked in every street and through every window, but the city was deserted. No sign of her children, nor of anyone else. Just eyes, yellow eyes of beasts following her._

“ _I’m scared,” Findis said, sniffling against Indis’s neck._

_Indis tried to comfort her, but she couldn’t, not when she was too scared herself._

_She wanted to call out to her children, but if she did the things would hear, they would know. The things that came from the dark, that stole people, stole children left unattended, children that were never seen again-_

_Indis turned, finding herself in the main square of Tirion, where her husband’s court was. Something stood there, a figure that was tall and great and darker than the darkness, looking at her-_

Indis shot up with a gasp.

She took deep, shaky breaths. She was in her room. In her bed. In Valinor, where no evil would come. She was safe. Her children were safe.

What manner of dream had that been? It had seemed so real.

She shook her head. It was nothing but a dream. Tirion was eternally lit by gold and silver light, and people always walked its streets. Maiar walked amongst them in the shapes of Elves and beasts and beings Indis could not describe. The Valar looked over them, their power holding any evil away from the shores of the continent. No eyes in the shadows.

Finwë was not with her that night. He was visiting Fëanáro, and Indis had preferred to stay home. Now, cold sweat clinging to her forehead, she wished her husband was there, to help her chase the dream from her mind.

Indis stood. Silently, she walked to her daughter’s room.

Írimë slept soundly. Her small hand held on to her favorite toy. She looked as peaceful as any child should be.

Indis leaned against the door, watching her daughter sleep. In the next room, she knew, slept Findis, who was an adult now, and had been too big for Indis to carry for many years now. Nolofinwë was away, camping with some friends, and he was also tall and strong now. Both of them capable of defending themselves.

No matter how long she lived in this beautiful land, part of Indis could never truly forget. The daughter of her mother’s best friend, a girl Indis’s age, taken away when she was still a toddler. Those Nenyar twins stolen away, their parents found dead by many wounds. Mahtan’s first son, mauled by a beast, the pain he left so great that Nerdanel had only been born many decades after her parents reached Valinor.

Indis didn’t often think of those who had stayed behind, refusing to heed Oromë’s call, but now she wondered what life was like for them. If they had found ways of protecting themselves and their children, or if those tragedies still happened now.

***

“I see you,” Míriel said.

The little fëa hid behind a corner.

“You can come out. I will not hurt you.”

Slowly, the child came out. A small fëa that barely held a shape of its own. She seemed like a little girl, probably not much older than a toddler when she had died.

Míriel’s heart ached. Other than her, almost everyone here came from the continent beyond the sea, the lands Míriel had been born in. It was a sad thing to see how many people still died there, but there was a particular sense of tragedy in coming across children in Mandos. Knowing that in their short years those kids had known more pain and loss than most Valinor born folk experienced in their all lives.

“Hello,” Míriel said.

“Hi,” the child.

“My name is Míriel, what is yours?”

The little fëa did not answer, looking down.

Míriel tilted her head. “Do you understand my language?”

The child nodded. Good, some people here did not speak any Quenya at all.

“Did you want to tell me something?” Míriel asked. She was sure this child had been looking at her for quite a while now.

She looked down. “People say you died because you didn’t want your baby.”

Had anyone else said this to her, Míriel would have unleashed her greatest ire on them. The mere insinuation that she hadn’t wanted Fëanáro would have had her lash out in a way that would made the offender regret any life Eru had breathed in them.

She had put all of herself into her son. All of her fëa and all of strength, channeled them into the tiny thing growing in her womb. All of it, until she had had nothing left for herself. Every last drop of energy and spark of fire, she had given to Fëanáro. Only too late, when she had been just a tired husk of herself, she had realized that she should have kept something back.

She did not regret dying, because she did not regret giving her son everything a mother could and more. But not having been able to be a mother for him would be a pain that would haunt her forever. Her precious son, dearer to her than life, and yet in her own wish to make him strong and healthy she had condemned him to living with a void no child should experience.

The mere suggestion that Míriel had not loved Fëanáro with all of herself, that she had not wanted him, made white anger burn within her. Perhaps it showed, because the child in front of her took a sudden step back.

But Míriel forced her anger to cool. This was, after all, a child. Who knew how long she had been here, and if she even had her parents here. Children needed patience and guidance when they made a mistake, not rage.

“I did want my baby. I wanted him very, very much, more than anything else in the world,” Míriel said, feeling her voice shake. “But after he was born, I was very tired. Too tired to be a good mother for him. I went to sleep, and I died. I wish I had stayed with him, but I could not.”

The child didn’t answer. She was fidgeting again.

Míriel sighed, kneeling down in front of her. “Are your parents here too, little one?”

Once again, the little fëa stayed silent. Míriel took that as a no. A wave of pity cut through her still simmering fury. She could not stay angry at this child, not when it was clear she also had a void where her family should be.

Just like Míriel’s own son.

“I miss my son just as you miss them,” Míriel said. “And I think that they miss you too.”

The child looked at Míriel. “Do they?”

“Yes. I’m sure they are always thinking about you, just as I always think of my baby. You will see them again, some day.”

The child started crying. A little sob, at first, but it later turned in a full on crying, or as close to it as one could get without a hröa.

Míriel found herself frozen, unsure if what she had said had been the right or wrong thing, or on how to comfort this child now that she was upset. In a better world, she would have had lots of practice taking care of little children. As it was, she found herself at a loss. She had never been good at comforting others or finding the right words to help them. But she also couldn’t simply let this child cry, when clearly she had said something to cause it.

“May I hug you, little one?” she asked, knowing at least that that was something that children liked.

The child just kept crying. Slowly, Míriel moved closer to her, and when she didn’t object, she wrapped her arms around the little fëa.

She wondered when was the last time someone had been kind to this child, if anyone at all cared for her in Mandos. Míriel hummed, gently rocking the child, and tried not to think that this might have very well been the first time someone had comforted her since her death.

***

“I want a little sister,” Lalwendë said.

“Why is that?” Indis asked.

“I have enough brothers.”

“I don’t know if you should want a little sister,” Findis said.

Lalwendë showed her her tongue. Findis was just mad because this was the third time in a row Lalwendë had beaten her at cards. She kept saying Lalwendë was cheating, which was just an excuse to not admit she was terrible at this game.

Findis glared at her. Of course, she was too much of a proper lady to reply to Lalwendë in kind. Good polite ladies didn’t show their tongues at others, or something like that.

“Girls,” Indis said, sighing. “Could we finish this round without the two of you coming to blows?”

Findis murmured something that might have been about how she never ‘came to blows’. Which was a lie. Or maybe not precisely a lie, she never hit anyone, but she did pull Lalwendë’s hair plenty.

Indis shifted on her chair with a light grimace, placing a hand on her belly.

“Is everything alright?” Findis asked.

“Don’t worry,” her mother said, smiling. “Your little sibling was just kicking.”

“Little sister,” Lalwendë murmured.

“Little brother,” Findis replied, just to be contrary, probably.

Indis sighed. “We will only know when they are born. I’m sure the two of you can wait another month to find out.”

Not much of a choice about that, unless the baby decided to come out early.

Lalwendë was serious about having enough brothers. Which included Fëanáro, even if Fëanáro would rather swallow a whole lemon than admit that they were related.

It wasn’t that Lalwendë didn’t love her brothers. She did. Nolofinwë was a great older brother. He always taught Lalwendë all the best tricks, he took her out riding, he was funny, even if sometimes Lalwendë wanted to pull his ears off. Fëanáro wasn’t exactly what she’d call a good brother, but it surely was entertaining to rile him up.

Of sisters Lalwendë only had one. She loved Findis, but it was also hard to have fun with her. She didn’t enjoy to go camping or hiking, or having a challenge to see who could climb the highest tree. She didn’t share Lalwendë’s interests or passions, and in turn Lalwendë often didn’t understand Findis’s.

She never wanted Findis to change, because Findis was Findis, and even if they argued often Lalwendë cared about her sister. However, she also wished she could have a sister she could enjoy herself with.

And this was going to be the last chance she had for that. Their parents had said this might be the last child they were going to have. Four children, five if for Finwë, was a good number, more than many other couples had. Fëanáro was already married and a father himself, it was a good time for Finwë and Indis to put an end to their child rearing years. Whether this child was going to be a son or a daughter, it would be Lalwendë’s last sibling.

Unless, if she got another brother, she managed to be annoying enough that her parents caved and had another one. Lalwendë could be extremely annoying, if she wished to be.

***

It was Itarillë’s begetting day, or at least it was supposed to be.

She thought back to her last begetting day when things had still been good, when she still lived in Tirion beneath the light of the Trees. It had been just few years ago, and yet it felt like centuries.

That year, they had held a party. Aunt Irissë and uncle Findekáno had taken her for a ride in the morning, while her parents finished preparing, and when they had came back there had been food laid out and all her family and friends had been there.

Great-grandmother Indis had gifted her a new book, which Itarillë had thanked her for, even if books had never been her passion. Grandma Anairë knew her better, and she had given her new riding gear. Itarillë had tested it out the very next day.

Great-uncle Arafinwë had made a show of how Itarillë was far too big now for him to pick her up, which she had found silly, but Arafinwë had always been silly that way. Great-aunt Faniel had gifted her a dress that she herself had made. Itarillë did not like Faniel much, in all honesty, but her work was always beautiful. Great-aunt Findis had hugged Itarillë long, and said that she was proud of her.

Everyone had been smiling, everyone had been happy.

Now, so many of Itarillë’s relatives were not here. Those who were had tried to make a little party for her, but it was clear none of them had truly felt festive. Everyone was too thin and too tense, their cracked and bleeding lips pulled in what was but a parody of a smile, set on red faces and snow burnt skin.

Her last begetting day before all of this, her father had smiled and ruffled her hair and Itarillë had flushed and told him to stop, she was not a small child anymore.

Her last begetting day, Itarillë still had a mother with her.

Huddled beneath furs that never truly kept the cold out, Itarillë tried to hold back tears. She missed her mother so badly. It still played in her dreams, the last time she had seen her mother, disappearing beneath waves that would have taken Itarillë too, had her father not saved her. She wouldn’t have cared about how many people weren’t there, about how there was no birthday cake because all that there was to eat was fish and meat, about how there were no gifts because they did not have the luxury of carrying superfluous things. None of this mattered as much as the fact that Itarillë mother had not been there.

Her father had tried to smile for her, today, but it was a painful thing to see. He never smiled anymore, not since his wife had died. She had always known how to put him in a good mood, when she was alive. Now it was as if the sea had also drowned any happiness that had once been in Turgon’s heart.

Itarillë shivered. She hated the cold. It had taken her mother, and her father’s spirit, and it slowly chipped away at everyone’s strength. It had killed more people than Itarillë could count and mutilated twice that number. Itarillë wanted nothing more than to be away from this cold. Once they crossed this ice, she swore she would never live somewhere cold again, never have to bury herself in furs and wear heavy boots in the hopes of not losing her toes. If she had the power to banish ice itself from Arda forever, Itarillë would.

She also hated Fëanáro. Fëanáro, who now likely sat in a warm house with his sons, surrounded by trees and grass and not endless ice. Itarillë had never known him well, and she had never liked him, because he in turn hated her family. He would have had Finwë missing his wife for all of eternity rather than marry once again. Were it for Fëanáro, no one in Itarillë’s family would have ever been born. He was probably laughing, wherever he was, knowing the torture they were going through.

It was because he had burnt those ships that they had to walk through this thrice cursed ice. It was his fault if Itarillë had lost her mother, and she bet he would not even feel sorry for her. She hated him. What right did he have to cause the death of Itarillë’s mother, just because he had never accepted his didn’t want to live anymore?

***

“Will you stay here forever?”

The child sat next to Míriel, as she often did as of late. The little fëa had seemingly grown attached to her. Míriel had tried asking around, but no one could tell her who the child was, and no one seemed to be caring for her. Míriel did not mind keeping her company. No child should spend centuries alone, and Míriel was finding that she enjoyed having this one around. She asked a lot of interesting questions.

“I will. I promised it, when my husband asked to remarry,” Míriel said.

“But do you want to?”

Míriel shrugged. “Sometimes I miss things. Finwë, Fëanáro. My friends. The stars in the sky and the wind in the trees.” She missed her work, too. She was thinking that perhaps she could ask Vairë one day, if she could be allowed some needles and threads. Míriel had never been good at sitting with her hands still. At first, she hadn’t minded not having things to do, but as time passed she was beginning to get bored, and boredom had always been the bane of Míriel’s existence.

“But you stay,” the child said.

“Yes,” Míriel said. “I promised the Valar to do so, so that Finwë could marry Indis. I will not go back on my word.”

She was content with that agreement, even if she had heard her son hadn’t taken well to it. Míriel loved Finwë, and she had been happy of calling him her husband, but she knew her loss had greatly hurt him. She would not forbid him from looking for a new happiness. Indis had once been Míriel’s friend, and Míriel was glad two people she cared for had been able to build a life together. If she were to be reborn, she’d just cause them a lot of troubles.

Not that she had a great wish for life, anyways. Her malady never truly seemed to heal completely. She had bad days still, when she did nothing but linger, and the mere thought of a new hröa took away her will to do anything.

Besides, she didn’t mind Mandos too much. True, there was much this place did not have, and much Míriel found herself missing. However, it had its perks too. For all her life, Míriel had been a creature of routine, and she greatly enjoyed this place where rarely anything unusual ever happened. She was sure that, were she allowed some sewing supplies, she would rarely feel bored at all. And Mandos was quiet, too, none of those loud, unbearable noises that used to make Míriel’s ears hurt. Mandos wasn’t perfect, but it also wasn’t too bad.

She had company too, if she wished. Most other fëar came from beyond the sea, and they had no idea what to expect once they were reborn. Míriel didn’t mind giving them advice when their time came, explaining what was Valinor like and helping them practice their Quenya.

And she had this child, now.

There was a sort of comfort in caring for a child, even if not her own. Míriel would never stop mourning the fact she had had to leave Fëanáro, but it made some part of her feel good to know that at least she could help someone else’s daughter.

“Do you ever wish to leave, child?” Míriel asked. The little fëa had never given her her name. Míriel didn’t know if the child even remembered it.

“No.”

“Life is not all pain and danger, you know. There are many beautiful things to see. Flowers, the sky, the light of the Trees. In Valinor, nothing can ever hurt you.”

The child didn’t reply.

Before dying, Míriel had lived long, married, had a child, she had had time to find her passions and happiness. This child had known little but pain in her brief life. It was no wonder she would not wish to be reborn, when she had suffered so much and known so little of the world. Still, children were not meant for Mandos, let alone for eternity.

***

“Can I ask you something, grandmother?”

Eärwen smiled at her great-granddaughter. “Of course.”

Finduilas seemed sheepish, in that way children did when they were about to ask something they feared would get them in trouble. In a way, the girl did have something child-like about her. Not childish, or immature, because Finduilas was an adult who had seen many horrible things in her life, and Eärwen knew the girl’s mind was sharp and clear. Rather, it was a certain innocence, that Finduilas somehow had managed to hold on to. Her wide eyes, the way she always seemed to find good things in everyone.

Perhaps it was simply the fact that she was Eärwen’s great-granddaughter. She still could scarcely believe little Artaresto had become a father, let alone that his daughter was herself old enough to have children if she wished.

“I heard that you and grandfather had terrible arguments after the First Kinslaying,” Finduilas said. She always called Eärwen and Arafinwë grandmother and grandfather, despite being on more generation away. It was a Sindar thing, apparently. “I was wondering how did the two of you make up, as there is also someone I wish to apologize to.”

“Who?” Eärwen asked.

“Gwindor, the one I was engaged to.”

“Ah.”

Eärwen had heard all about that sad story. It made her feel for Finduilas. Losing her beloved, then finding that he had been so terribly tortured, and then having her heart turn to the mortal who eventually became her demise. So much suffering, in such a short life.

“I still care about him,” Finduilas said. “I don’t love him the way I did once, but I hope that we may still be friends in this life. He hasn’t been reborn yet, but when he is I might look for him. However, I find I wouldn’t know how to talk to him. He… he never held any ill will against me for my choices. He accepted the change of my feelings without anger, or… I still think I should apologize. I know it must have hurt him, when I left him.”

“Perhaps Arafinwë should be the one to ask advice to. He was the one who apologized to me, he might give you tips on how to find the right words.”

“But how did he convince you to forgive him?”

Eärwen smiled. “I loved him for a long time before we fell apart, and I loved him still when my anger faded. I didn’t want us to be apart forever.”

It hadn’t been easy, not at all. In truth, they hadn’t really reconciled until Findekáno came back to life. Arafinwë loved his family, had defended Nolofinwë’s choice to fight at Alqualondë as him having just been mistaken. And he hadn’t stopped their children from leaving for Beleriand. The last one had been much harder for Eärwen to forgive than the first.

They had needed centuries of thinking things over and ignoring their marriage bond for them to close that gap that had suddenly opened between them.

“But,” Eärwen added, “it seems to me that your Gwindor was never really angry at you for your choices. I never met him, but from what I heard of him, I think he would have already forgiven any slights against you.”

“Yes, he is like that,” Finduilas said, a small, sad smile on her lips. “But I still think we should talk about what happened.”

Eärwen caressed the girl’s hair. “It is better to say these things than to keep them inside. Even if it hurts. If you worry you may not find the words, write him a letter.”

“Thank you,” Finduilas said.

“Don’t mention it. I may be ancient, but I can still give some advice.”

“You aren’t that old, grandmother.”

“I was here before the Sun and the Moon rose into the sky, my child.”

It was a testament to Finduilas’s good manners that she didn’t roll her eyes at that. Eärwen loved to make that joke with young Elves. Her great-granddaughter must have already heard it a hundred times now.

Finduilas sighed, seeming lost in thought for a moment. “I know what I’d like to tell Gwindor, when I’ll see him again. I don’t know how, but… I know what.”

“What is it?”

“That it wasn’t the scars.” Finduilas lowered her eyes and shook her head, as if to rid herself of that thought as well. “People said I fell for Túrin because he was handsome, while Gwindor was scarred and maimed, and I hate it. Nargothrond was full of handsome Elves, and sometimes handsome Men, too, but none of them caught my heart in the way Gwindor had, and I know had Túrin been someone else I would have never looked to him. The wounds Gwindor received were horrible, but I was not so shallow as to let them rule my feelings.”

“I’m sure you weren’t,” Eärwen said. “And I’m sorry, that people would say such things about you.”

“It’s not how I wish to be remembered, for sure.”

“People like to make assumptions, and being a member of our family means having to endure many of them, sometimes rather absurd ones. I know of people who are convinced your father was not my grandson, but rather one of my children. How that rumor came to be, I wouldn’t know.”

Well, perhaps she could make a guess. Someone might have forgotten or not known who Artaresto’s father was, but known he was of Arafinwë’s line, and roughly filled in the gaps. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had made a mistake with the genealogy. Those historians beyond the sea did not always have a source to tell them how to fill in gaps. Eärwen was sure they did their best, but she had heard so many things regarding the line of Finwë that were plain wrong.

“At least that rumor does not hurt him,” Finduilas murmured.

Eärwen smiled. “True. But what matters, is that those who are involved know when a rumor is just a rumor. It’s not fair that such lies are spread about you, but you also can’t personally hunt down everyone who believes them. So long as you and Gwindor know how things truly went, you will be alright.”

***

Galadriel brushed her daughter’s hair, trying to get it done as fast as possible while also avoiding pulling on it. To get Celebrían sitting still long enough to get her hair done was a small miracle, her daughter being apparently still too young to appreciate not having a bird’s nest on her head.

“Are you done?” Celebrían asked.

“One more minute,” Galadriel said.

“You said that one minute ago already!”

“Have you been keeping count?”

Celebrían huffed. She had started swinging her legs in impatience. “Why do you have to do it every day?”

“Because otherwise it will get caught in a branch while you climb a tree and you will be stuck there forever,” Galadriel said. “You truly take from your father in this.”

Celeborn was also ridiculous about his hair, only brushing it as necessary and putting the barest amount of care necessary into it. Galadriel would never understand that. She had been raised in a family where everyone had an almost maniacal care for their looks and their hairstyle.

“Because my hair is silver?” Celebrían asked. “Maybe silver hair shouldn’t be brushed, and you don’t get it because your hair is gold.”

Galadriel shook her head at her daughter’s childish reasoning. “My mother had silver hair too, and she brushed it plenty.”

“Maybe it’s two different kinds of silver hair.”

Galadriel laughed. “If there are, you truly got your father’s. The only thing you took from my family is your eyes.”

“Father says my eyes are like his mother.”

“Your father is free to think whatever he wishes, but your eyes are just like your grandfather’s, my father,” Galadriel said. “Half of my family had those eyes. The same color as your great-grandmother’s Indis.”

Galadriel got somewhat wistful at times, thinking about it. Her daughter favored Celeborn’s side, very Sindar in looks and very little Noldor. Her eyes, however, were the same as Galadriel’s father, and of her eldest brother. A little reminder that Celebrían belonged to a house that had once been large and great.

“Did Indis look like me?” Celebrían asked. “Other than the eyes?”

“Does she look like you, rather. She’s still alive.” And hopefully happier than the last time Galadriel had seen her. “And no, not really. Her hair is golden, for starters.”

In a better world, Celebrían wouldn’t have had to ask this question. She would have known Indis herself, as well as many others she had never met. As it was, all Galadriel could to was drag up memories of a time long past to give her daughter an idea of what her family had once been like.

“So she looks like you?”

“A little. She is paler than me, and shorter, and our faces aren’t very similar. My father looked much more like her. And my aunt Findis, she was identical to her mother.”

“And your uncle? And your other aunts?”

“My uncle looked much more like my grandfather Finwë. They both had dark hair and a hard face, but with a warm smile. My aunt Lalwen had dark hair too, and she was the shortest of her siblings. My other aunt Faniel, well, she never looked much like anyone else. Chestnut hair, and brown eyes. And I’m done with this,” Galadriel said, putting down the brush.

Celebrían immediately shot to her feet, finally free from that cruel torture. “I’m going to play in the garden!”

“Don’t mess your hair too much, or I will need to brush it again.”

“I won’t!” Celebrían said, already running away.

Galadriel shook her head. Looking down at her hands, she sighed. Her family would have loved her daughter so much. She could picture them in her mind’s eye, her brothers cooing around her, her parents spoiling her rotten, her nephew teasing his little cousin.

She pushed the thoughts away. No use in thinking about what ifs. One day, Galadriel would see her family again, and Celebrían would meet them too.

But not too soon, hopefully.

***

“Do you like it?” Míriel asked, holding up her embroidery work.

The little fëa tilted her head, looking at it. “What are those flowers?”

“Roses.”

Ever since Vairë had allowed Míriel to practice her craft in the Halls, Míriel had threw herself into it. She embroidered flowers, trees, animals, all that she could think of. The child often seemed fascinated by the finished work. She didn’t recognize many of the things Míriel depicted, but she always grew excited when she did know what she was looking at.

Now the child studied the roses, turning her head this way and that.

“Is it fun to embrioder?”

“Embroider,” Míriel corrected. “And to me it is.”

“Why does no one else embr...oider?”

“Because everyone else is only here for a little while. Once they are reborn, they will be able to do everything they want. But as I will stay here, I was granted permission to practice, to keep boredom away.”

The child remained silent for a little while, before asking, “can you show me how?”

“How? Do you want to learn?”

The little fëa nodded, looking down shyly.

Míriel blinked. The child wanted to learn? In truth, Míriel had never been the best teacher. However, if she didn’t teach this child, no one else in Mandos would. And many times had Míriel thought it would do the child good to do something other than sitting around.

“Of course.”

Vairë had given her a good amount of supplies, and Míriel had plenty of spares. She and the child sat, and Míriel showed her how to make the thread pass through the eye of the needle, and what were the simplest kind of stitches.

The child struggled at first. She hadn’t used her hands to do anything in a long, long time now, and it was no surprise delicate work like embroidery was hard for her. Míriel herself had found her own hands had lost a little of their skill when she had taken up needle and thread again.

However, the little fëa was a quick learner, and soon she managed to make some stitches, if awkwardly.

Míriel felt excited in a way she hadn’t in a long time. She had forgotten what it was like to share her passions with someone.

There was also something else that warmed her heart, seeing the child put so much effort into this. When she had first met her, this small, lost fëa did little but hide. Míriel had pitied her at first, but with time she had grown genuinely fond of her. She cared for her, and there was a peculiar happiness in seeing the child grow out of her mournful shell.

“Ah!”

The child ripped her hand away, having prickled her finger with the needle.

Míriel hadn’t thought of giving her a thimble. She never used one herself. After all, they were nothing but fëar. There was a certain instinctive part of themselves that still reacted with pain, but there was no hröa to damage.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

The child was staring at her hand, eyes wide. It occurred to Míriel she probably had not felt pain since the time of her death.

Míriel smiled at her. “It’s alright. We all prick ourselves sometimes. It’s unpleasant, but it’s nothing truly bad. It takes some practice to learn how to handle needle correctly.”

The child looked at the needle with apprehension, as if it might jump and attack her.

“Do you want to continue? I can find you something to wear on your finger, so that you won’t hurt yourself.”

“You don’t wear anything,” the child pointed out.

“I have a lot more practice, and I’m used to that.”

After a little more staring, the child picked up the needle again, carefully making another stitch.

“That’s good,” Míriel said.

As the child practiced, Míriel also sat next to her, working on her own projects. She started humming under her breath.

She was proud, she realized. Proud of this child who was at last showing some more interests in the things of the world, after having refused them for so long. More and more often now she asked Míriel to tell her of what the living world was like. Now, she asked to be taught a craft. Maybe soon she would also be convinced of being given a second life.

Unexpectedly, the thought of being parted from the child brought with itself a little pain, too.

***

“I missed you, mother.”

Anairë stroke Irissë’s hair, trying to keep her tears at bay. The words were muffled, her daughter’s face buried in Anairë’s shoulder. “I missed you too.”

Not a day had gone by without Anairë thinking of her children. Every day for all the long centuries her mind had went to her daughter. Even now that she held her in her arms, she struggled to believe that Irissë was truly back to her. Any moment now Anairë expected to wake up from this dream, and yet she knew this couldn’t be a dream, because in her dreams, Irissë was always just as she had been the last time Anairë had seen her. Now, now there was something different.

In the moments before hugging her, Anairë had seen the changes in her daughter. Not in her hröa, no, Irissë looked just as Anairë remembered her. But there was a wisdom behind her eyes the Irissë of old did not have, something in the way she carried herself that set her apart from the girl who had left Valinor.

Anairë mourned all that time she had missed, all the changes she had never been witness too. Now that Irissë was in her arms again, she would never let her out of her sight again.

“I’m sorry,” Irissë said. “I must have made you worry so much.”

“Isn’t it in the nature of children to make their parents worry?”

Irissë sighed. “That is true.”

Anairë’s chest grew tight. True, her daughter was herself a mother. Anairë had a grandson, a boy she had heard much about, but had never gotten to meet. And it would likely be long still before she was allowed to see him, if Maeglin had indeed done all that people said.

“Still, I gave you more reason to worry than most daughters do,” Irissë continued.

Anairë closed her eyes. “True. But I blame your father more than you.”

“He asked me to say hi, by the way.”

“Later,” Anairë said, “later you’ll tell me whatever you father wants me to know. Now I would rather spend time with my daughter.”

Irissë straightened up, taking one step back. Anairë immediately wished to take her in her arms again, but she stayed still. Irissë had never really enjoyed hugs. Anairë had no idea if that preference had also changed, or if the one they’d just shared had been an exception.

“How have you been, mother?” Irissë asked, eyes bright and a smile on her face.

“I’ve managed. I was… fine.”

“But were you alright? You weren’t too alone, were you?”

This too was a different Irissë than the one Anairë remembered. Irissë had always been a good girl, but in her youth she had not always been the most sensitive. It would often slip her mind to consider other people’s feelings. In the past, if Anairë had told her she were alright, Irissë would have accepted that with little questioning. It wasn’t common for the daughter Anairë remembered to show this kind of open concern in her eyes and voice.

True, the two of them had not seen each other for so long, still Anairë couldn’t help but think that her daughter had grown.

“I had your grandparents, and your aunts and uncle stayed close to me as well. They all wish to see you.”

Anairë’s parents were waiting in Tirion, eager to see their granddaughter again. Findaráto had declared that he would throw a party for any and all of his cousins who came back to life, no doubt he was already preparing it. Faniel had said she would love if Irissë could visit her, to tell her tales of how the land was when Irissë had seen it.

“There will be time for that later. Now, I’d like to spend some time with my mother.”

Anairë blinked, swallowing around the knot in her throat. She and Irissë had never had much in common, but very few things in her life had ever given her as much joy as spending time with her children.

“Let’s get going, then. Your old room is ready for you, if you still want to sleep in it.”

“Mother, I’ve been waiting for centuries to do it.”

***

“It’s quite cold outside, isn’t it?”

Thalforiel turned, finding Edhellos looking at her. “It’s not so bad.” She had grown up in these lands, she knew the kind of bitter wind that could flow from the North once winter came. This chilly fall breeze was almost pleasant on her skin.

Edhellos stepped out on the balcony with her. “Please tell me it was not my husband who chased you out here.”

Thalforiel looked away. “No, even if it seems to me he doesn’t overly approve of me.”

“You say that as if my husband ever approves of anything.”

Thalforiel’s lips quirked. It was true that the frown on Angrod’s face seemed permanently etched there. Thalforiel didn’t think she had ever seen him laugh.

“Besides, he doesn’t disapprove of you,” Edhellos said. “He likes you well enough. He’s just a little overprotective when it comes to Orodreth. I don’t think he has quite accepted that his son is of marriage age.”

Thalforiel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Orodreth was no child. He was younger than Thalforiel, and she was herself quite young still, but Orodreth was grown and capable, and he had been given charge of the Pass of Sirion to control and defend. Thalforiel didn’t know how things used to be done in Valinor, but in her opinion they were both definitely old enough to enter an engagement.

“The fact that I am a Sinda surely has nothing to do with it,” Thalforiel said. Unions between Noldor and Sindar were not seen well by either of the two groups.

Edhellos snorted. “Thingol is his great-uncle. My husband is not always easy to deal with, but he is no hypocrite. Besides, if property was such a concern, he would have never married me.”

Thalforiel frowned. “Why? Did people not consider you a good wife for him?”

“Me? No. I was a commoner from a common family. A few others in Finwë’s house had already married people who were seen as beneath their status, but mostly they were of Fëanor’s line, and they were always seen as the eccentric side of the family. Some people were not too keen on Angrod having chosen me.”

“Really? I thought you were-”

“-noble?” Edhellos finished. “Is it my name that gave you the impression?”

“It does seem fitting for a daughter of an important family.”

“It’s an epessë. Angrod gave it to me. It’s a habit, in that family.”

Thalforiel lowered her eyes, smiling. She had found it funny, at first, that young Lord of the Noldor calling her strong in that unsteady Sindarin he still spoke at the time. And she had been flattered, she had worked hard to become the warrior she was. It had pleased her pride to see the admiration in Orodreth’s eyes.

At some point, Thalforiel had turned into the name she used the most. Probably around the same time she had fallen for that Noldo with the sad eyes and the striking golden hair.

“Regardless of what others may say, I like you,” Edhellos said. “You have a good head on your shoulders, and trust me when I say those Finwëan folks need someone with common sense around them. They get lost inside their heads, all grandiose thoughts and deep reflections, and lose sight of what is right in front of them.” Edhellos paused. “Eru knows we would not be speaking now, were my husband’s family not full of prideful dreams.”

“You regret coming here,” Thalforiel said. She knew little about her future mother-in-law, having only met her a handful of times. Edhellos was no warrior, nor did she carry herself with that almost arrogant pride many in the line of Finwë shared. It piqued Thalforiel’s curiosity, why would Edhellos decide to follow her husband in exile.

“I left my home and my parents to walk through a land of infinite ice, trying to reach places I barely knew anything about, chasing after a relative that never showed my family any kind of friendship. I made the choice of staying by my husband’s side, and were I in Valinor I know I would be tormented by worry and second thoughts. But often I do wish we had listened to those wiser than us who had warned us not to go.”

“You mean the Valar?”

“For example. But it was resentment towards them that led us to leaving in the first place. When Mandos came we dismissed him,” Edhellos said. “And we dismissed Finarfin, my husband’s father, who is wise, but he had never been known for valor or bravery. We dismissed him, saying he must have been afraid. We dismissed Nerdanel, wife of Fëanor, who also is wise, we all said the arguments she had had with her husband had been driving her decisions. We dismissed Findis, Fingolfin’s older sister, who has a touch of her mother’s foresight, and came to her brother to tell him of the ill fated dreams she had had. A dream is just a dream sometimes, we said. And we dismissed Faniel, youngest of Finwë’s children, who we should have probably listened to the most. She was never good at having her voice heard.”

“Why should you have listened her the most?” Thalforiel asked. The name of Faniel was new to her. “Is she wise?”

“Wise? No, or at least, she was not famous for wisdom. But wisdom and knowledge are not the same thing, and of the latter Faniel had more than any of us.”

***

“Míriel,” Vairë said. Míriel would never understand how Vairë could always know with such precision who was near her, when her eyes were eternally covered by a veil. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I come asking for a favor, my lady,” Míriel said.

“I see.” Vairë’s fingers did not stop working as she spoke. She was making a new tapestry. Míriel could not yet guess what it depicted. “Does this favor relate to the child you have been taking care of?”

“It does.”

“I must thank you on my husband’s stead, Míriel. Children can be the hardest to get to leave Mandos. It is not easy to heal the wounds of death and violence in ones so young. Had you not taken her under her wing, she might have stayed here forever.”

Míriel nodded. It had taken more years than she could count to convince the little fëa that there could be good in the world. It was a weight off of Míriel heart to know she was now willing to be reborn.

It also pained Míriel. She had watched the child go from a small, fearful shadow to a little girl who chatted and laughed. She cared for her deeply, more deeply than she had ever thought she would. She did not want to part with her. She knew it was only right for the child to be reborn, but now that the time was nearing, Míriel found herself wishing to have longer with her.

And she worried. For what would life truly be like, for that child who had lived and died in a far and different land than Valinor.

“Does she have any family, in Valinor?” Míriel asked.

That question had haunted Míriel since the little fëa had told her she wished to be reborn. She didn’t want the child to be alone. Not again. Míriel could not bear the thought of the little fëa finding herself without anyone who cared for her for the second time.

“No, but she will not be alone. There are some who have dedicated themselves to helping those who leave this place, if they do not have anyone else. They have taken care of lone children before.”

Míriel lowered her head. “I would like to ask for something, my lady.”

“Ask.”

“I wish for word to be sent to my husband that there is a child about to be reborn that I care much for. I would be happy if he or someone in his family could take her in.”

The rhythm of Vairë’s weaving slowed. “Why do you ask this?”

“I love that child, my lady, as I would love a member of my own family.” A little sister, a niece. Or perhaps even a daughter. “I have helped her heal, but she has also been precious company for me. She has helped me forget the wounds of my own heart. Caring for her gave me a purpose in these Halls. If that girl has no family to call her own, then I would be glad to count her as mine.”

“This is an unusual request, Míriel,” Vairë said. “I have never heard of anyone calling a child theirs without being their parent.”

“Neither had anyone died in Valinor, yet here I am. Nor had anyone taken a new wife after the first, and my husband did. And my son I heard has created many wonders no one ever even dreamt of before.”

“While it’s hardly the first time someone of your family has done something unusual, I must remind you that the girl also has parents of her own somewhere.”

“Would it truly hurt her to get additional ones, my lady?”

“You have a point. Have you spoken to the child about this?”

Míriel nodded. “I asked her if she would wish to be counted as one of my family.”

“And did she say yes?”

“She did.”

“Very well, then. I will speak to my husband about this.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Míriel said. And if Námo did not agree, Míriel was willing to appeal to him personally. In life, she had been called stubborn, and her strengths had returned to her enough that pestering a Vala did not seem too much of an effort.

“Is there anything else?” Vairë asked.

“One thing, my lady. I have known that child for long, but she has never told me her name. I believe she might have forgotten it.”

“It is not too uncommon, between those who died so young. However, my husband has found it,” Vairë said. “In fact, it is perhaps better if you went to her, and reminded her of it.”

“What is it, then?”

***

Faniel’s sister-in-law seemed tired. Unsurprising, considering everything that had happened since… well, since Fëanáro had threatened Nolofinwë that day that now seemed ages past. Dark bags were under Nerdanel’s eyes, and it seemed she had lost weight too.

She drank her tea in sullen silence, a stark difference to how she used to be. Nerdanel had never been one to pointlessly chitchat, but she always had something to say. Ever since Fëanáro and their sons had left, however, it was as if Nerdanel had gotten sick of speaking with others.

“You know, I almost thought you would follow him,” Nerdanel said, eventually.

“Fëanáro?”

Nerdanel nodded. “He considered you a sister more than the rest of your siblings. I know he would have wanted you to come with him. And I know that for all your differences, you love him as well.”

Nerdanel, as always, spoke the truth. Fëanáro had been the quickest to accept Faniel into the family, when she had left Mandos. She had been dear to Míriel, and that endeared her to Fëanáro. Despite the jealousy that never quite left his eyes when he was reminded of how Faniel had known the mother Fëanáro had never met, he had loved her as a sister, and more than his other sisters.

Faniel, in turn, loved brother, even if in many ways he was her opposite. He had scared her, in the last period before he left, when violence and fury were always lurking behind his eyes. But he had always been good to her, and Faniel cared for him, despite how hard he had been to deal with it at times.

“You know I don’t like violence. Or pain, or death,” Faniel said.

“Neither do most of my children or nephews, and yet they went. Some of them did even if they had all the reason to despise Fëanáro.”

“You misunderstand, Nerdanel. While what happened in Alqualondë was horrible, it was not the pain nor the death I refer to.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“Neither Moringotto nor his servants deserve a place in this world. I believe it is right to fight him.” Faniel’s hands tightened around her cup. She knew, in her heart, that what had taken her from her first family that she barely remembered must have been work of the Dark Vala. Because of him, Finwë, the second father Faniel had had and dearer to her than the first, was dead, and the rest of her family was in tatters. “But I will not follow Fëanáro beyond the sea to do it, nor would I follow Nolofinwë, or Finwë himself, for that matter.”

“Why?”

“My first life was short. When I awoke in Mandos, I had forgotten almost all of it. I remember more now. I remember the faces of my first parents, and what kind of place I lived in. I don’t remember ever being called by this name I bear, but it felt familiar since I was first reminded of it. It was a long time ago, and too brief a period to leave lasting memories. But I remember how I died as if it were yesterday. You have been born in Valinor, you don’t know the kind of dangers you may find beyond the sea. And if I told you now, Nerdanel, what Moringotto’s creatures do to the children they take, even your statues would recoil in horror.” Faniel took a deep breath. The memories were creeping on her, memories she had never been able to rid herself of, that still clawed at her heart despite the centuries. “I don’t think your husband was wrong in leaving. I do not approve of his actions, but I understand his feelings. But I, Nerdanel, I refuse to ever cross that ocean again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please do tell me when you figured out where I was going with this :)


End file.
